


i don't feel my weaknesses, i don't even feel my strengths

by CountessKlair



Series: Choosing a Path [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Eventually Forgiveness, Angst, But Familial Love, F/M, Grant Ward as he was supposed to be, Oneshot, Redemption, Sadness, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, grant ward character study, slight AU, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:07:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessKlair/pseuds/CountessKlair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's going through Grant Ward's mind as he draws his gun on Garrett, and the fallout. Canon Divergence, aka I love the show but Grant Ward did not act like Grant Ward after Episode 13. I play with the timeline too, just a note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my personal opinion of how Grant Ward really is, and what I think should have and would have really happened when he pulled that gun on Garrett. You do not have to agree. I mainly made this so I could feel better about his character, because in my way of thinking, he was unknowingly brainwashed, but beyond that, his actions concerning Hydra and his involvement in it don't go with his character. So my way of getting him out of Hydra before he does all that stupid shit.

**Ward POV**

**11 October, 2014**

 

The humming of the plane was driving me insane.

I had gotten used to the relative lack of air-noise on The Bus, and compared to that, this plane was louder that someone screaming directly into my ears.

Neither Hand nor Garrett had taken their eyes off of me since we had boarded, and I knew what was coming. 

A test, from both sides.

Which faction did I belong to?

Both thought they knew, and I didn't know if they were right.

Garrett thought he still had enough of a hold on me to exert that hold, and Hand was simply untrusting enough she would doubt my allegiance to Shield.

But as I said, I didn't know if they were right.

It was a simple question, and one I had answered each night before I went to sleep.

Am I Hydra?

The problem was, after so many months spent on The Bus, with May and Fitzsimmons, and Coulson and Skye, that question had gotten harder and harder to say yes to, until eventually, I couldn't answer at all.

Hand turned to me, and I poised myself for the question as she asked casually, "Don't you think it would be a good idea to kill The Clairvoyant yourself? For real, this time?"

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Garrett smile, and my stomach heaved.

I barely kept myself composed, but the sudden tinge of green to my skin had Hand's eyes narrowing. "Are you ill?"

I didn't respond.

I lifted my eyes, my gaze trapped my Garrett's, that sick grin of his pulling the corners of his mouth into a cruel sneer.

I remembered that sneer. I remembered the words that went with it.

"That's not weakness, is it?"

I felt ill, grotesque.

I didn't know the answer.

I didn't know if it was weakness, to care about a goddamn dog, to not want to kill it. I didn't know if it was weakness to actually want to protect people, not because it was my cover, but because I cared about them. I didn't know if that was a weakness.

Garrett thought it was.

Hydra thought it was.

I had joined Hydra to get control over my life. And I had gotten control. But I hadn't been the one wielding the control.

Garrett had.

Someone shoved a trashcan under my chin just in time, and though I couldn't see it, I knew that sick grin was still on Garrett's face.

Hand was the one holding the trashcan, much to my surprise. She had a funny look on her face, mild disgust evident. She looked me in the eyes, asking, "Are you done?"

I didn't know.

I must not have looked good, because she leaned back, cool demeanor unbothered that she had been nearly vomited on not ten seconds ago.

Hand simply said, "Maybe later."

I stood, and both Hand and Garrett looked at me, and suddenly neither of them looked sure anymore.

I looked at Garrett, remembering that initial hope for something greater, only to be let down further. I remembered months in the wilderness, alone except for Buddy, learning hard lessons that almost no one normal ever had to learn. I could hear every single time he had ever said to me,"That's not weakness, is it?" superimposed on top of one another. I heard the gunshot and the whine from a sweet, loyal and well loved dog. I saw flames dancing on a house, someone screaming on the inside. I saw a little boy, trapped and drowning in a well. I saw Hydra.

And then I remembered Melinda. Strong, powerful, brave Melinda, who could hold all three pieces of the Berserker Staff, who held it when it was whole again, who had laid her hand upon mine in that church and said, "This time, let me help." I remembered Simmons playing the word Aglet and I remembered watching her fall thirty thousand feet out of the sky. I remembered Fitz snarking at me, 'Congratulations, you managed to string three whole words together.", and I remembered him saying, "Coulson told me to take care of you, so that's what I'm doing." I remembered Coulson jabbing that truth serum into my arm on our first mission together, I remembered him angry at us for risking our lives and so so glad that we were safe.

I remembered Skye, unafraid and curious and beautiful, remembered her saying quietly, "I want this. Bad."

I remembered Shield.

No, not Shield. 

My team.

 _MY_ team.

And then I knew.

I picked up the pistol.


	2. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout. Trigger warnings, panic attack, and mental health issues.

**Ward's POV**

**14 October, 2014**

 

I had come to the conclusion that I was not a very smart man.

What other kind of person lets others make decisions for him his entire life? What other kind of person can recognize abuse when other people are the victims, but can't see it in himself? What other person dares to think that he has the right to become an abuser at all? What other kind of person would join Hydra, would undercover at Shield without contact from anyone who had anything to do with their true allegiance, and then kills their commanding officer and proceed to hide in the woods of the Greater Pacific Northwest?

What other kind of person would sit in a dank forest and moodily ask themselves rhetorical questions?

Probably someone who was insane.

I had shot Garrett right between the eyes, that cold slimy grin permanently etched onto his face. That face kept floating in and out of my mind after I'd shot. Afterward, I only knew that Hand had said something redundant, and I had put my gun away, and then sat back down. 

After an hour of flying, I had quietly gotten back up and went to the bathroom. I hadn't been thinking, hadn't been feeling.

Apparently being beaten to hell and then murdering your second worst childhood tormentor was a bad combination. I'd woken up in a hospital bed. A surgeon with tired, old eyes informed me I was in Seattle Mercy Hospital, and that some people were on their way to see me.

I had waited until she left, before I quietly checked my bandages, then got up, got dressed, and left for the nearby warehouse I knew was previously owned by Shield somewhere on the outskirts of Seattle. Then, I had packed up a camping bag and left.

I'd hiked for three days before I found a stream and set up a small camp nearby.

That was two days ago.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I guess I was hiding from the team. They wouldn't just let this slide. I was a member of Hydra, and once you joined Hydra, there was only one way you left. You died.

So I ran away.

I knew it wouldn't fix things, hell it wouldn't fix anything, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? If I tried to go back to the team, they wouldn't take me, they'd call me a murderer, a betrayer. Which, I guess I was. 

And I didn't want to go back to Hydra. The thought had crossed my mind, but I didn't want to go somewhere where I couldn't trust anyone.

So those were my choices. Go a place where no one would trust me, or go a place where I didn't trust anyone.

I didn't know which of those ideas was worse.

That wasn't true.

I knew.

I was opening field rations when I heard the first crack. 

Like a hound, my head snapped up, looking to where I'd heard the sound. 

There were voices coming through the foliage, and the stomping of feet. Whoever they were, they weren't being careful about making their presence known.

And then I heard it.

Coulson. 

"Ward, where are you?"

And then Skye.

"Grant, c'mon! We've been walking for an hour now and I wanna go home, where are you?"

Though I couldn't make it out, I could hear Fitzsimmons bickering, and I know I was imagining it, but I could here Melinda's quiet distaste in being here.

I didn't know I was running until a branch slapped across my face. 

I kept going.

I ran until I heard a yelp, and I slammed into a smaller body. 

Fitz groaned underneath of me, "That bloody hurts."

Simmons, standing a little farther away but just close enough for me to see her shoes, called out, "He found us!"

I stood, ignoring the way my hand shook as I held it out to Fitz to help him up. 

Jemma gasped. "Grant Ward, you've pulled a stitch!"

After Fitz's feet were firmly vertical on the ground, I lifted my hand to touch my face, and sure enough, the smear of scarlet on my fingers showed I had re-opened that cut.

I looked over at Jemma, who was now searching through her backpack, saying something I wasn't listening too.

She stood, holding a first aid kit, stopping when she saw whatever was on my face, asking, "Are you alright?"

I couldn't answer.

I saw my gaze go watery, felt the first few tears spill over, and then I gasped once, "I'm so sorry."

I looked away, but this time my gaze landed on Fitz, and it was somehow worse.

My breathing was coming faster now, harsh and strange, the way it used to when I was very young.

Then my vision started turning black.

Two large hands, gentle and strong, settled on my shoulders, and a calm voice cut through the static in my ears. "Alright, easy now, Grant. Easy now. You are safe, ok? No one here will hurt you. I want you to breathe, ok? Let's breathe together. Breathe in for five counts, one, two, three, four, five, and breathe out for five counts, one, two, three, four, five, that's very good, now let's do that again, ok? Breathe in..."

Coulson continued breathing with me until the static left my ears and my vision returned to as normal, save the puffiness from crying and the extreme leftover headache.

They were all gathered around me, sort of sitting on the forest floor, faces twisted with worry. Even Melinda looked concerned.

Jemma was still clutching the first aid kit, her own eyes puffy and red as well. After a nod from Coulson, she asked, "Can I tend to your stitches?"

I shook my head, saying roughly, "You don't want to."

She scoffed very gently. "Of course I do, silly."

I shook my head again, a little harder, asking, "Why do you want to? Don't you know what I am, what I've done?"

Melinda, ever the realist, responded. "You joined Hydra when you were a kid, and probably did a bunch of nasty things under the supervision of John Garrett. Then, you were sent to work undercover in Shield until notified to kill everyone around you."

I nodded, closing my eyes, waiting for her to start beating the shit out of me.

She only continued talking. "Then, when you were notified to re-join Hydra, you killed John Garrett and passed out on an airplane, landed yourself in a civilian hospital, which you then left before we could get to you and you proceeded to hike out into the middle of the goddamn woods."

I nodded, saying quietly, "Just kill me, don't drag this out, please."

Skye forced a chuckle. "Kill you? No, we're not gonna kill you. We're gonna take you home."

I looked up sharply.

She looked serious. They all looked serious about it. 

I asked haltingly, "But I'm Hydra, why are you- I mean what- I mean, I don't understand."

Coulson sighed. "Do you want to kill us?"

I shook my head vehemently. "No. No." I couldn't stomach the thought, couldn't even begin to.

Coulson shrugged. "Then we're good. If Shield was still up and running, we'd have to go through a bunch of paperwork saying that you're a good guy now- you are, aren't you?"

Scarcely believing what I was hearing, I tried, "I don't know? I...I guess I want to be?"

Fitz relaxed, a smile spreading over his trusting face. "Then that settles it. You're coming back with us so we can go to New York and hide out in Avenger's Tower for a while, Stark's already called Coulson, and we can get you in with a Psychiatrist because that's something that's way overdue."

I looked over at Coulson, who nodded. "You have protected all of us with your life ever since you came on board. Your intentions, in the beginning, were not honest, but I wasn't really expecting them to be. For different reasons that you secretly belonging to a group of Neo-Nazi's, but still. As long as you have our backs, we'll have yours."

I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything.

Coulson pulled me to my feet, and Melinda went back the direction I'd come to most likely strike the camp I'd set up, as the rest of them led me back to The Bus, Coulson and Skye both not mentioning the death grip I had on their hands. 


End file.
